


a guide to being death

by staccato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse Fix-it, Because Winchesters, Gen, Harry Potter is a Winchester, Master of Death Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Spoilers, Swearing, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato/pseuds/staccato
Summary: Death is very, very tired of its Master's strange wants and whims. This is the last time it does something he wants.





	1. Chapter 1

It began like this:

After that disaster with the Tower of Babel, Harry turned to his companion.

“I think I’ll like to live some time as a human,” he said.

His companion cocked its head, “why?”

Harry gestured to the people they were watching, “do you not think they’re amazing? I had my doubts, initially, when Chuck created them. I did not believe they could compare to the leviathans or the angels, and yet, barely a few centuries since their creation and they’ve already tried to reach heaven. That’s a more momentous feat than any of Chuck’s creatures have done in the past few millennials!”

“But their attempts were unsuccessful,” his companion reminded him.

“Yes, Chuck was always the spoilsport, wasn’t he? Even now, when he has disappeared,” Harry sighed, “but I think they’ll overcome the language barrier, sooner or later. And, ah, how I’ll like to be there, among their midst, when they do. Yes, yes I do.”

His companion did not answer, for it did not yet understand the basis of Harry’s wish. From what it had seen so far, they were impulsive and illogical beings. For a while, the two stood together, content to observe the humans as they shouted, frustrated at the sudden appearance of the different languages.

Harry broke the silence, “The other day, I saw an angel tear out its grace. Then, it fell.”

“It became a demon?”

“No, not a demon. I think it was reborn as a human boy.”

“How fascinating.”

“Quite,” Harry agreed, “and, I wondered, if the same would happen to me if I lost my powers.”

His companion was alarmed, “Master?”

Harry smiled at it, “I think it would be rather interesting, don’t you agree?”

“Interesting, maybe, but who would collect the souls of the dead?” His companion questioned.

“Hmm,” Harry tapped his chin, his ring glinting as he did so, “perhaps…you?”

His companion seemed shocked at the prospect, although its emotions were always difficult to perceive. Of course, this was not its fault. His creator, being the entity that is Death, had troubles sculpting expressions. There was a reason why Chuck was God, the Giver of life, and Harry was Death, the Taker of life.

“Pardon?”

Harry placed a hand on its shoulder, “you’re my first creation, and I trust you like no other. I will give you my powers, and you will be Death.”

“What about you?” His companion demanded. “Will you cease to exist?”

“No, nothing so drastic.” Harry chuckled, appeasing his companion. “If things occur as I suspect they will, I will be reborn as a human.”

It remained hesitant, “Master, I can’t…”

Harry’s expression softened, “I am aware this may seem like a great burden, but I assure you it is not. You have seen me reap many times; you yourself have reaped many times. Furthermore, I do not think you will have to bear it for long. Humans die rather quickly, as we have both witnessed. When you reap me after I die, you can return my powers to me, if you wish.”

His companion mulled over his proposal, “and what if the Apocalypse occurs in your absence? I am not capable of collecting that many souls alone.”

“Indeed you will not be,” Harry agreed. “To assist you during that time, I will create other companions before I leave.”

“But…” His companion struggled to devise another counter-argument.

“If the Apocalypse do occur during my time as a human, I grant you special permission to find me and return my powers to me.” Harry added. “Any other times, however, you must leave me alone to live my own life freely as I will.”

“That is agreeable,” his companion finally said. It appeared that no amount of persuasion could change its Master’s mind. The entity was incredibly stubborn, after all. It still remember when he and Chuck had argued about the creation of Purgatory, and how the planets came to have craters.

Harry squeezed his shoulder, “thank you, my friend,” he dropped his arm. “Then, I will go and create your companions. Afterwards, I will give you my powers, and you will be Death.”

His companion said nothing as he walked away.

*

It continued like this:

Death watched as the human, named Shelah by his Earthly parents, took his last breath. By human standards, he had lived a decent life. Death could only hope that it had been enough to satisfy its Master’s curiosity. It had been a long 433 years as Death, and the being could now understand why its Master was so desperate to escape and be a human instead.

When the body’s heartbeat finally stopped, Death reached forward, eager to give the powers back to their rightful master and return to being just another companion of Death. Or, as the humans called them now, reapers.

But its Master’s soul had only exited Shelah’s dead body for a second before it disappeared.

Death paused, glancing around to check that another reaper hasn’t reaped the soul by mistake. It had given out clear instructions, stating that this soul was its and its alone.

None. There was nothing that suggested another reaper had been here.

Death was befuddled, until it suddenly felt its Master’s soul again. But it was no longer here, where the body of Shelah laid. No, it was across the ocean, and…

It was in the body of another human, this time of a baby girl.

Death stared at the wailing infant for seven minutes and 54 seconds before understanding dawned.

Its Master was the original Death, an immortal entity. Like his counterpart God, he could not die. He cannot be reaped.

He will only be reborn as human. Again and again and again.

And Death, who has been instructed to not bother its Master while he—she is alive, cannot return her powers to her until the Apocalypse came.

*

And it continued like this:

Harrison Winchester was born on July 31st, 1981, to one Mary Campbell and John Winchester. When he is brought home from the hospital, he is greeted by his older brother, Dean. Two years later, they will both welcome Sam similarly.

Six months later, his mother will die, and John will throw away everything to hunt the demon that murdered her.

Including among the casualties are the childhoods of his three boys.

And Death will watch, and will count down to the second when Dean says “yes” to Alastair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should be writing essays for my college apps...oops
> 
> thanks for reading! comments and kudos are always appreciated


	2. Chapter 2

The anniversary of Dean’s death found Harry sitting on the side of the road, holding a bottle of beer loosely by its neck. An unopened bottle was buried in the dirt in front of him, along with two other similar bottles.

“It’s been three months, Dean…”

The crude cross made no reply, and Harry sighed. He lifted his hand and let the beer trickle down his throat, suppressing his gag reflex. He has never liked beer or any other alcohol, preferring the scent of smoke as it filled his mouth and lungs. Sam had always berated him, citing the list of cancers whenever he returned with another pack. But it’s not Harry who is dead, is it? Dean is. Dean is in Hell, because he is a dumbass who sold his soul for Sam’s.

Sam, who doesn’t even care. Sam, who Harry last saw six weeks ago. Sam, who is probably fucking that demon girlfriend of his and drinking her shitty demon blood instead of here, with his brother, drinking shitty beer to honor his other brother. The one who died for him.

The one who has been tortured for three decades.

Time passes differently in hell. John held out for ten months and a hundred years, but Harry knew Dean was never that resilient.

(It was why he went and got Sam that weekend to look for their dad. In truth, Harry and Dean would have been fine on their own, but Dean wanted any excuse to see and talk with Sam again; to try and lure him away from that apple pie life, and into the life of a hunter; to manipulate him into being with Dean again. Four years was the longest the two had been away from each other, and Dean, who carried and fed and bathed and dressed little Sammy, couldn’t cope with the separation.

(Look where that got him, huh? Buried six feet under, on the side of a random road.))

How long until he meets Dean again, this time with black eyes and a tainted soul? Would Harry be able to kill him, or even exorcise him?

Three months…

Harry finished the last of his beer, and threw the bottle at a nearby tree. It shattered upon impact and exploded into glass shards, hitting the man who had just appeared. It was midnight, and Harry had neither seen a car nor heard the click of the man’s cane, and he had the sharpest senses of any hunter he had come across. The man, if he really was a man, had literally materialized out of thin air.

Harry jumped up, a gun already cocked and aimed. The man remained unfazed, however, bushing away the pieces that had impaled themselves into his overcoat. He was old, with a narrow face and slicked-back hair.

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

The man chuckled, “ah, Master. How quickly you forget me. Well, it’s being several thousand years, and the Apocalypse dawns. I believe it’s high time for you to remember.”

Then, quicker than Harry’s human eyes can follow, the man was right there and pressing two thin finger against his temple and then he was screaming. The gun dropped out of his hands, hitting the ground with a thump, soon echoed by his knees as they buckled. The man followed him down, remaining skin contact as he poured something into Harry.

As he returned all the powers back to their rightful master.

Harry passed out, his human body unable to handle the burden.

*

When he woke, he was lying on top of the Invisibility Cloak, looking up at the bright sky. The being that had been Death, but no longer, sat at his side, picking French fries out of a McDonald bag.

Harry—Death—Harry groaned, flinging an arm across his eyes to block the bright sunlight. The Stone on his finger hit his forehead. He could also feel a wand harness digging into the skin of his other arm. He’ll have to adjust that. During his first life, he had been skinnier; this one introduced him to the oils and fats in American fast food.

“Finally awake, Master?” His loyal companion drawled.

“Julian,” Harry said, “shut up, please.”

The reaper crunched down on a fry loudly.

Harry sighed, and pushed himself up on his elbows. A truck drove by, slowing down as the driver turned her head to give him a concerned look. Harry met her eyes, and knew she was about to die twenty three minutes later by hitting a train head on. He gave her a thumbs up.

The truck sped up, driving away.

“So, the Apocalypse, huh?”

“As it is written: the first seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell,” Julian reminded him, as if Harry wasn’t there when Chuck wrote them.

“And I’m guessing Dean is this Righteous Man?”

Julian inclined its head in agreement, and Harry let out a laugh. Right, just his luck. There were only six Righteous Men in the whole of creation. Of course he was born brother to one.

“Angels began storming Hell this morning,” Julian told him. “They intend to retrieve Dean’s soul and return it to his body.”

“Only after he broke the seal, of course. Those bloody bastards,” Harry muttered darkly. “And here I thought Michael’s Sword was supposed to be free of taint.”

Julian shrugged, “Perhaps an angel will purify him.”

Harry gaped, “and absorb the taint into itself? That will influence it to fall.”

“Where’s the harm in that? You did, and we were okay.” Julian said casually.

Harry winced. Ah, so Julian wasn’t going to ignore the topic Harry wanted to ignore. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t know I would be reincarnated. I thought I would be human for only a little while.”

“You’re forgiven,” Julian said simply, “you couldn’t have known.”

“I—right, yeah.” Harry licked his dry, chapped lips, “so, you lot were good?”

“A soul has never not been collected,” Julian reported.

“That _is_ good. Nice job.”

“Mmhmm.”

They sat in silence for a while, Julian finishing his Happy Meal while Harry properly listened to the Angel Radio for the first time in eons. In every lifetime while he was young, he would be able to hear voices. They would usually fade when he experienced puberty, and every time he had decided they were figments of a child’s imagination.

Only now has he finally learned the truth.

Harry didn’t know how the Radio worked, exactly. He just knew it allowed angels to telepathically communicate, but Harry and Chuck would also be able to talk in it. And when one message was sent, it was received by everyone. There was no such thing as DMs or privacy. Why would there need to be, unless someone had something to hide?

Currently, the Radio was buzzing with the news of three garrisons descending into Hell. Of plans to break more seals. Of cooperating with demons. Of how Sam Winchester is doing exactly as he should. Of summoning the Horsemen—

Ah, of course. The Four Horsemen and their rings that bind the cage.

Harry should go visit the rest of them.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry spent the next month trying to track down any of the other three Horsemen, which is hard work, okay, since they don’t have a physical form, _shut up Julian._ Famine, Pestilence, and War all rely on their respective rings to inhabit a human body, which was currently impossible, as those pesky little things were still being used to trap Lucifer in his Cage. Harry, on the other hand, was Death, a being that had existed for as long as God had. A ring wasn't going to change that.

(Nevermind the fact that Harry didn’t even give Chuck his true ring, just a copy of it, weaker and smaller but still strong enough to hold Lucifer. Harry supposed he’ll give that one to Julian when Lucifer inevitably broke out.

Because he will. The first seal had broken, and the rest will fall like dominoes. There were over six hundred of them, after all, and the demons only have to break sixty-six of them. There was a chance that they might be stopped, but only if the angels protect the seals with everything they had. As of now, however, Harry knew that that was not the case.

Of the hundred or more garrisons that operate, only three were sent to retrieve Dean’s soul; the others were called back, in preparation for the final battle that the angels were certain will occur. And why wouldn’t it? They’re actively assisting the demons in breaking the seals, which means Lucifer will be released soon enough. No one had seen halo and wing of Michael since even before Harry’s fall, but that’s okay. He’ll show up eventually—he’s the obedient son, after all. And Dean and Sam Winchester will obviously fall over themselves to say “yes” to their hosts. They’re only mud monkeys, and as such, they wouldn't dare to refuse. No, they will feel blessed for having been chosen by fate to play these roles. Sorry, what is this thing called Free Will?

(Sometimes, Harry pitied the angels.))

The point is, by the four month anniversary of Dean’s death, Harry has only narrowed War’s location down to a region, not even the exact country. Nevertheless, he paused his progress to pop into a store to buy two bottles of Deans’s favorite beer, before going to Dean’s grave and settling down. He shoved one of the bottle into the dirt near his legs.

“Cheers, you jerk,” he said.

Harry popped the cap off of his own beer, and took a swig; scrunched his nose at the taste. He can just hear Dean calling him a girl for not liking the taste of beer, the drink of a real man. Involuntarily, he rolled his eyes in reply.

After a moment, he spoke, “I’m sorry, you know, for not getting you out of there. But if anyone knows who I am, or what I’m capable of…it’ll bring a host of troubles.”

He snorted at the inadvertent pun, but the cross remained silent.

“Alright, fine, so it wasn’t that funny. Still, I am sorry. Here, I’ll finish the rest of this shitty beer to show you how sorry I am.”

Harry finished the rest of his shitty beer, and smashed the empty bottle on the ground beside him. The glass shattered upon impact, shards rebounding and slicing his arm open. Harry watched impassively as red drops of blood welled to the surface, and one, two, three managed to fall before his skin knitted itself back together, pushing out the glass fragments in the process.

He turned around, preparing to return to the Balkans, when the Angel Radio suddenly boomed with a triumphant voice:

“DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED!”

The declaration was made by Castiel, whose voice Harry had become intimately familiar with, as the angel was the leader of one of the garrison charged with freeing The Righteous Man. He has dutifully reported their progress every day for the last ~~month~~ decade.

Harry breathed out a sigh, relieved. His decision to leave Dean’s freedom to the angels had been a difficult one. Despite what he had just said to Dean’s grave, he had seriously considered just saying fuck it, abandoning the plan Julian and he had painstakingly drawn up, blowing his cover, and diving down there to rescue Dean. His conviction had only wavered for each second longer the angels stayed in Hell.

He’s got a saving people’s thing, after all.

But that was unnecessary now. Castiel had done it. He had rescued Dean. Now all he has to do was put the soul back in Dean’s body—

Harry’s eyes widened, and he’s barely had time to fall forward, arms covering his head and eyes screwed tightly shut, before he felt Castiel ascend from Hell and land on Earth, sending ripples of purifying energy—grace, to be exact—to the surrounding areas. Even with his status as Death, Harry still feared that he’ll go blind. Castiel didn’t attempt to hide his powers at all.

Then, as soon as he appeared, he was gone, leaving Dean’s soul behind.

In his body, trapped six feet under.

Harry lifted his head, blinking blearily at the unmoving patch of dirt.

The angels really didn’t think this through, did they?

It took a while for Dean to break through his wooden coffin and the ground, and even longer for him to convince Harry that, yes, he is actual Dean Winchester, very human and very alive and no, he has no idea how or why that’s possible

(Harry is good at acting, alright? Besides, if he isn’t suspicious about Dean's miraculous resurrection, then Dean will get suspicious because of his lack of suspicion, then he will tell Sam about his suspicions about their brother, then Sam will tell Ruby, who will tell Lilith, who will tell whichever angel she is working with, and that’ll bring a whole host of problems onto his head.

Pun very much intended, this time.)

Harry refused to let him drink any of the beer until he’s eaten something, so they go to the nearest convenience store, which is fortunately deserted. He grabbed some food while Dean go to the restroom to wash his face and hands, and everything should be fine except Dean returned with a pale face and his shirt sleeves rolled to his shoulders.

There was a raw, raised hand print on his arm.

 _For fuck’s sake, Castiel,_ Harry thought, exasperated. _There was no need to be this possessive. Everyone already knows you were the one who saved him._

“I think a demon yanked me out,” Dean said.

Harry stared. _That could not be further from the truth,_ he wanted to says, along with _damn, Castiel, your plan really backfired._

Castiel seemed to agree, and decided he should correct Dean's assumptions immediately. His true voice, when he spoke, reverberated with power, becoming stronger the longer Dean remained ignorant of his words. Finally, he seemed to realize that his efforts were futile, for the ringing disappeared. The building stopped shaking.

“So maybe not a demon,” Dean gasped out, still crouched on the floor with his hands over his ears. “But still, something with bad mojo. You saw what they did to my…to my grave.”

“Why would they save you, then?” Harry asked, carefully standing up and picking the glass shards out of his clothes. Thank Chuck for leather jackets. They’re virtually indestructible.

“To uphold their end of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” Harry repeated, before he realized what Dean was implying. “You think someone made a deal.” At Dean’s pointed look, he quickly shook his head, “I didn’t do it.”

“Sam, then,” Dean decided, and Harry would scoff at him for being so presumptuous, except the thought had crossed Harry’s mind more than once. “Where is he?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him for months. He’s alive, though,” he was sure of that. The reapers had been instructed to inform him if his brother’s soul was ever reaped.

“You didn’t keep an eye on him? Harrison—!”

Harry cut Dean off before he could continue his tirade. As a human, he had agreed that their youngest brother needed to be protected, but now that he has regained his memories, he has come to the realization that they were way, way, _way_ too co-dependent on one another. Sam was a full grown hunter now, for fuck’s sake. He was completely capable of making his own decisions, good or bad, and doesn’t need to be watched by either of his two older brothers. “He was dead set on striking out on his own. And you know him. He’s more stubborn than the two of us combined.”

Dean grimaced, and finished the last of his energy bar. “Fine. Come on, there’s a payphone outside.”

“Or, you could just use mine?” Harry suggested, retrieving his phone from his jean pocket. “Because I really doubt that you remember his number from the top of your head.”

Dean glared at him, but didn’t refute his statement. He grabbed Harry’s phone and scrolled through his contacts until he landed on Sam’s name, and pressed the call button. An alert tone beeped.

“We’re sorry,” a recording said. “You’ve reached a number that has been disconnected.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He swiped up Harry’s contact list and clicked on another name. This call is picked up immediately.

“Harry?” Bobby’s voice sounded through the speaker, “Something wrong?”

“Um, maybe,” Harry replied before Dean can say anything. “Listen, I was at Dean’s grave today, and, uh.”

“And?”

“I found him. Alive. I found him alive.”

There was a pause. “This ain't funny, kid,” Bobby warned.

“He’s not kidding,” Dean interjected. “It’s really me.”

There’s a click. Dean and Harry glanced at each other.

“He hung up, didn’t he?”

“To be fair, you wouldn’t have believed yourself, either,” Harry pointed out.

“This is definitely your fault,” Dean told him with a light shove. “If you hadn’t pulled all of those pranks on him when we were younger…”

Harry huffed. “Like you didn’t help me with every single one of them?”

They grinned at each other fondly. Dean, of course, was the first to look away. “I guess the only thing we can do now is go and reveal myself to him.”

“You make it sound so dramatic,” Harry said sarcastically, because if there was ever a time to be dramatic, this was it.

“Shut up, imp,” Dean called back, stepping out the door, no doubt heading towards the white car parked outside. Harry was sure it hadn’t been there when they first arrived. Well then. He supposed he should thank the angels for not forcing them to walk all the way to Sioux Falls. “Come on, we’ll have to hurry if we want to get there before it gets dark.”

Harry rolled his eyes—headlight existed for a reason—but followed after him.

Just like he had always done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miss me?


End file.
